Category: Non-Fiction

One of the more popular misconceptions about male subs is they are somehow weaklings or emasculated incapables who swoon at the sight of danger, even by those who supposedly understand the world of kink. The fact that someone gets off on submitting control under consensual conditions of trust, in order to achieve personal and sexual gratification, doesn’t seem, to me, to have any bearing on personal bravery. At least not any more than the desire to look after one’s children would.

So under these misconceptions, it may surprise some people that, until recently, I have practised karate for many years, with some gaps in between. Karate is, after all, Budō – fighting art. Punches, kicks, strikes and blocks are designed to cause pain and physically immobilise. As someone who, as it happens, is a non-confrontational person by nature, what is it that attracts me to it and is there any kink crossover? To which the answer is ‘possibly because of kink crossover’ and ‘yes’.

So the first thing to say about karate, and all martial arts, is it takes place within an environment of consent. Anything that happens in the Dōjō is done in a spirit of honest competition; no one is deliberately hurt. It is not just a room, but a state of mind. In the Dōjō there is no swearing, no disrespect, no talking out of turn. It is the place of the Sensei, and we begin each session by a complete prostrate bow to him/her, with the spoken phrase “Sensei ni rei” (‘bow to Sensei’). (I am working on the assumption you have all seen enough martial arts movies to know that Sensei means ‘teacher’ in Japanese.) The most common phrase you will hear repeatedly muttered in the Dōjō is “oss”. It has multiple meanings in Japanese, from “I see” to “please” or “with your permission” and is uttered as a ‘mirroring phrase’ to show you have understood, that you agree and that you thank Sensei for showing you something.

It’s fairly well known that karate literally means ‘empty hand’ (or, sometimes, ‘open hand’), referring to the fact it is unarmed. The use of the body as a tool has an amazing effect upon the student; for someone who has lived with body-image issues, I can attest that the self-confidence and stature gained from karate lessons is remarkable. But what keeps me coming back – and I know I will be back at some point in the future – is the fact it is learning about yourself and learning about control. The whole system of belts shows that constant learning is built into it. Constant improvement also means adapting to the way your body changes over time. The commitment to personal development means putting yourself willingly in the hands of an expert to learn new techniques of body and mind control, and trusting them not to hurt you.

A less well-known phrase is the adage that ‘there is no opening move in karate’. Strictly speaking, karate is self-defence; if two practitioners meet, there should be no fighting, because you only act in response to the other. We willingly suspend this, in order to learn and compete, but that mindset of responsive techniques, adjusting to react to someone, understanding how you can use the movement of the opponent against them gives you wonderful flexibility and mental agility, as well as the correct attitude. Mental training, correct attitude, use of mantras, phrases and ritualised chants, an environment of consent and respect, and deference to the teacher. I’m sure you are already making the connection…

Taking up karate because you like fighting, is like taking up D/s because you like pain. Yes, there are large parts you will find rewarding, exciting and stimulating, but there are also whole chunks and chapters you are missing out on. And chances are you will end up hurting yourself and others in the process unless you understand the meaning of the acts and the importance of respect and control.

At a loose end all over, like a tethered kite in a gale. I feel like, at any moment, I will get ripped away by a wild wind and be lost from you forever, A strange anxiety because the need to belong to you is so strong is it both a comfort and a fear; that I literally don’t know what to do with myself when I feel the need to submit to you like this. I feel overclothed, which is not even a word but is exactly how I feel right now; it’s a common response of mine to anxiety caused by my submissiveness, the need to divest myself of all clothes, like I am deliberately choosing the most obvious way to make myself more vulnerable. That by doing so I will draw you in to gather me up in the safety of your knowing arms and make me feel needed and cherished and loved and… useful.

For the biggest fear is of not being needed, of being surplus to requirements. I understand this is a common sub fear, another one to add to the whole pile of things we can tie ourselves into knots over as subs: too needy, not observant or responsive enough, not being able to read minds, too bratty, not bratty enough, too… uninteresting enough to not be worth bothering with. Someone on a Femdom chatroom said a true thing the other day about punishing subs: how do you punish someone who gets off on punishment? The answer is to ignore them. Ghost or blank them for a few days. The sub is the most PassAgg of attention seekers and his greatest fear is of being overlooked.

But that is not how I feel tonight, because I am secure in the domination, love and protection of Miss. She relies on me to step up sometimes and protect her from bad things that threaten to derail her. I enjoy this, but it is a stretch skill – not the protecting, that is easy. Subs are not people who necessarily step back from a fight. I am a karate blue belt and can handle myself.

The stretch comes in the making decisions that anticipate something to help Miss, even if that action is based upon her direction. As we have learned about each other, she has needed me to draw upon my sub skills to help her manage her doubts and fears, and remind her how wonderful she is. When Miss is feeling more able to manage some things, then I gratefully retreat to the shadows and into my devotion to her.

Somehow, I found Miss. She brings together a worldliness, unafraid to taste everything and to follow passions. Her knowledge, interests, inclination to discover and explore, and to create are inspirational to me, as someone who can too easily dwell in his comfort zone unless pushed.

She draws me out of the darkness of my doubts and into the light of her control. My submission gives me meaning, a way of defining who I am and how I can make sense of the expression of my sexual needs.

She has taken that need and given me a purpose and, by showing me how that purpose can be lived, and not just put up with, she make us fit together like a single entity with a common purpose. Her, me, her dominance and my submission are the four chambers of a heart. We push and pull, give and receive, between us we give life to the external shells seen by the outside world.

Since the start of my submission to Violet, I’ve been wanting to wear a chastity device as part of our D/s. We discussed it in our contract, decided the sort of cage we wanted, and made the purchase; after a slight size mix-up, I was able to wear the cage for her for the first time this week.

The use of chastity as a short-term expression of control is important to both of us. While Violet doesn’t eroticise denial as such, we wanted the offering of my orgasm control to her to be a key feature of our D/s. I have written previously on a now-discontinued blog about my first experience of cage wearing, and so could approach it second time around with more knowledge and experience. But with also the realisation that the symbolism runs deeper than even I appreciated at the time.

I was thinking of how, although it is early days yet, I feel so much more enabled in this cage. Not wishing to overthink this, but I can’t help thinking of my cages as metaphors for my D/s experiences – not least because they are intimately connected with them.
My first cage was capricious, sharp in places, uncomfortable unless propped with supporting briefs and strategically placed padding to prevent ring pinching and the lock nipping the top of the cock, even when closed. It made wearing it an ordeal at times, like the relationship it was bought for. Looking back I wonder why I put up with it – I thought all cages were like that.

By comparison this cage is so smooth. It feels nicely weighty, fits well, no sharp surprises and no constant need to build Heath-Robinson contraptions to keep it all in place. I don’t feel impeded – none of that sharp intake of breath when I stand up, in case of a stabbing shot of pain. Just the warm weight of a beautiful burden between my legs that makes me think of her when I feel it and the importance of my submission.

Building on this, I realise what I am doing is recalibrating my submission, away from old terms and tropes, discovering a new way of talking about a new experience. The temptation would be to think of doing things like you used to, but the progress of our D/s has been about reclaiming it from those people in our past who might have tainted it or made us assume it had to be one particular imperfect way.

I reject that. This can be how we want it to be. I love our way of doing it because it is ours – we are making it anew how we want. We are taking back control.

One of the delights of a new D/s is the decision-making about new tasks and rituals. With Violet (@Fireandhoney) this week, I went shopping for panties for use in tasks, using the wonders of the realtime internet to ensure I bought the good stuff, with Violet in my phone to sign off on purchases.

She was worried I’d be put on some sort of Register for touring the women’s undies section of M&S with a phone, taking pics. This is part of the challenge of the dual life of undercover kink – you always think everyone can see your inner thoughts, and you are waiting to be exposed. I was quite happy that a middle-aged man obviously using his phone to discuss the purchase of knickers with a third party was exactly the sort of behaviour you would expect to see. A put-upon working husband checking the purchases he was bravely making under direct instructions from Her Indoors.

In the end, decisions were made, including the bonus of a third pair in the 3 for 2 sale. And I engage in the usual ironic pantomime at the cash register.

“They don’t quite look your size, sir. Ha ha ha ha ha!”

If only you knew, my man. If only you knew…

Click on the kisser below to see who else is is getting sinful this week…

For this month’s theme of Daily Ritual, I wanted to share a recent one. Violet (who tweets as @fireandhoney) and I entered 2018 as a new D/s, and I’m enjoying the blissful beginnings of the heart-racing, obsessive, hang-on-her-every-word drug of our relationship. And we’re not going to let an 8-hour time difference spoil the party.

Late night chats, pics, and sharing over the internet is our new daily ritual. While she sleeps, I try to create things to give her pleasure when she wakes, when I’ll be looking forward to our time-travelling conversations. We were drawn together by a common love of the rituals of D/s, and incorporating them into our daily lives gives us both uncommon joy.

Rituals make the sub, and this sub is happy in his devotion. See who else has been creating bits of joy from their daily rituals, by clicking on the kisser below.

The other day I posted a blog post that I very nearly didn’t, and I wanted to explore why I found it problematic, and what it says about me as a sexual person. The post itself was here and was simply an image of a semen-covered screen, with words of tribute underneath. The inspiration and collaborator on the piece was Violet (@fireandhoney). Recently she and I have committed ourselves to D/s and I am proud and happy to be the sub at her feet.

There were a few reasons why I was initially uncomfortable with it. First of all, pictures are not really my thing in a blog – #SinfulSundays notwithstanding. My language is verbal not visual – I take pictures but without really a sense of them speaking more powerfully than my words. But mainly it was the picture contents: a screen with an image I had recently ejaculated over. Within the scheme of things, pretty mild – an implied sexual experience, and so-subtle-you-might-miss-it transparent traces over the bright backlit screen. Especially mild from a man who regularly celebrates acts of sexual licentiousness in fictional settings on the same pages.

Violet and I had been discussing the issue of documenting our new relationship on our respective blog pages – how it would work, what would we show etc. And so we had the question of whether I would post this on my blog. I decided I would, but I never promoted it across twitter as I would with a piece of writing and I wanted to understand why I felt embarrassed, even ashamed, to do so.

I’ve talked elsewhere of my longstanding body-image issues and how it made me feel I was undeserving of sexual gratification as a young man. But in coming to terms with the reality of my desires in recent years, and realisation of my Submissive nature, I realised a hitherto repressed side: an exhibitionist. Yet even here there is a paradox – I am an anonymous exhibitionist who doesn’t really do sexual. It was only when confronted with posting the picture of my cum-covered device that I realised the pictures of my naked body I have shared via #SinfulSunday and #GymLockerPics are not sexual at all. I had been sharing pictures of myself under the guise of sexpositive pride and all the while they were actively trying to hide the very thing they I had convinced myself I was revealing.

They may have been celebrations of my semi-naked form, but devoid of sexual context. Genitals hidden by strategically placed deodorant cans, creamers, padlocks and swimtrunks told of an eye that preferred its sex jokey. The reaction I was going for was a smile not a gasp; I was still that 18-year-old trying to hide his shame, but this time turning it into a joke. In short, my ‘visual kink brand’ was about seaside smut not honest sexuality explored. I was worried my readers’ smiles would turn into disappointed frowns like maiden aunts at a Chubby Brown review.

Maybe I should cut myself some slack. We can’t all be Robert Mapplethorpe and I am not under legal obligation to show what fizzes my whizzbangs. There are, let’s be honest, more important things in the world. But it took the proof of my physical, sexual self in public to make me realise that I still have a way to go before I’m comfortable with the raw evidence of my inner feelings. Thanks to Violet for helping me to realise this, and helping me to keep trying.